Photographs
by shikamaru's fangirlxxx
Summary: After the host club, Kyouya is a sucessful busnessman and Tamaki directs contemporary Ballet. They haven't spoken since school, but in their high-profile lives, scandal like news of the host club could cause major problems.
1. Chapter 1

Kyoumaki story; its not hardcore, but if youre uncomfortable with gay pairings then this isn't the story for you. After the host club, Kyouya is a sucessfull buisnessman and Tamaki directs contempory Ballet. They haven't spoken since school, but in their high-profile lives, scandal like news of the hostclub could cause major problems.

In a small mansion, burried in acres of garden, lived Kyouya Ottori. It was hard not to know who he was. The beautiful, successful, young entrepenure was recognised by all and dreamed of by many. His host club days were over, but he had moved on; no longer working in Tamaki's shadow, he was the second richest man alive and he knew better than to look back at the days when the host club had been his life with anything other than embarrasment. Yes, he still took care of his appearance and he had not forgotten how to use it, but not nearly to the extent that the host club had. He still felt slightly guilty about effectively turning half a school of otherwise intellegent girls into mindless hero worshippers, but like many things he had done, that was a long time ago and he was different now.

It was rare that Kyouya awoke long before noon; the master bedroom was situated in the left wing, away from the noise of the servant's morning activities, and thick, velvet layers of curtains arred any moring light from intruding upon his slumber. Despite his trademark efficiency and perhaps over the top organisation, Kyouya Otori did not like mornings.

It seemed this morning didn't like him either.

The insistent ringing of the small, gold, bell beside the door drilled into his head, dragging him from a dreamless sleep. He glanced at the clock; half six in the morning; whoever was calling him at this unearthly hour was going to pay. He concluded that it was probably immature to tell whoever was outside to go away, but Kyouya was sorely tempted too. He fumbled for his glasses in the dark and sat upright in the bed, trying to appear presentable.

"Come in."

The door was pushed open tentatively, heavy mahogany plowing through the thick, pristine, white carpet. Kyouya blinked in suprise as he realised it was Mori that had disturbed him. The bodyguard had known him since highschool and new better than to disturb him for anything less than disasterous.

"Kyouya, Sir..." He seemed hesitent, as if unwilling to depart whatever news he had deemed neccessary to enter for. He was carrying a silver tea-tray on which sat a cup and saucer along with a small jug of milk, a plate of toast and a magazine. There was no sugar; Kyouya had made it clear to the mades that putting sugar in tea was, in his mind, practically an insult to the beverage. The tray looked small and out of place in Mori's large, rough hands and kyouya was puzzled. Normally one of the maids brought it in. The magazine puzzled him too; where was the usuall newspaper? How did they expect him to keep up with stocks using some trashy gossip columbs?

"You had better look at this, Sir..." Mori said in a low voice, placing the tray upon the bed.

"What? The tea?" What could possibly be wrong with the tea that he should be awoken at this time in the morning? Tea shouldn't even have been made yet.

"No, the magazine..." Mori said awkwardly.

"I had noticed that. Where is the newspaper?" Kyouya pulled it out from beneath the plate of toast. "I don't read this rubish! What..." He fell silent, glancing at the cover, his eyes wide. "Oh..."

"Indeed, Sir..."

The cover was glossy and vibrant, but instead of the usuall storys of diets and celebrity breakups the main point of this issue was made clear by the large picture of two boys on the front. One with dark hair, the other fair, both beautiful and both almost naked. Kyouya had forgotten this particualr photoshoot, it was one of those memories that he kept locked away in a darker corner of his mind reserved for thing he would rather not think about. They had been about eighteen when it was taken and Renge had decided it best to be a little more daring with the issue as it would be their final one. They were in their usuall pairs, and had hired a professional photographer to take photos, paying him a little extra in order that no knews of the event would reach outside the hostclub.

Whilst it was effectively porn, Kyouya reminded himself that he was technically an adolescent back then and blamed his hormone-addled brain for his behavior. Despite this, he knew that in the same situation; with just one smile from Tamaki, he would probably make the same mistake again.

"How many magazines have got hold of this picture?"

"Just this one, Sir. But the press are waiting outside the gates; theres a lot of them, Sir."

"Oh..." Kyouya sank back into the bed, scrunching his eyes closed.

***************


	2. Chapter 2

In a large, open plan apartment in Tamaki sprawled dramatically along the plush chaise longue, his hair not yet styled and sticking up at odd angles. There was still sleep in his eyes yet he held himself with his customary poise as he sipped water from a cocktail glass.

"It's so wonderful to be home in England at last!" he said, returning from his contemplation to address his personal assistant who was sitting at the table; her fingers fleeting across laptop keys even as she replied.

"Tamaki, you're _French_. You've never stayed in England for more than a week."

The blonde smiled, unperturbed. "Yes. And already I feel at home here!"

Miss Lans ignored him, used to his dramatic ramblings.

He closed his eyes, bringing the glass to his lips again and feeling the sunlight warm his eyelids. The typing rattled on, but Tamaki didn't hear it, he was daydreaming again. The London premiere had gone well, the reviews had been good but Tamaki had not doubted that they would be. Dorian Grey was a classic novel and Tamaki had done his best to make his adaptation just as daring as the book had been when it was written; cutting edge suited the book and Tamaki's style of choreography. After months of working on the ballet, he had known the company would reach the media's high expectations. Besides, his name alone was enough to sway their opinions, everyone in the business had heard of his work.

The warm light vanished as the sun passed behind a cloud and Tamaki's eyes fluttered open. He sat up, frowning.

"Have you ever been obsessed with somebody?"

Miss Lans stopped typing this time, realizing that the question was not a part of Tamaki's usual patter.

"No, I can't say I have, why? Have you?"

"No… I was just thinking about Bazil."

"Bazil?" Miss Lans was intrigued; it was about time that Tamaki found a boyfriend. For all that he was flamboyantly open about his sexuality, the blonde had never seriously dated anyone. Yes, he would dance with guys at parties, and most of his encounters made front page news with rumors of a relationship, yet at the end of the night he would never so much as exchange numbers.

"I meant in the _story_, Bazil is obsessed with Dorian. Even when Dorian goes insane and Bazil hardly knows him anymore, he still loves him."

"Oh, _that_ Bazil…" She knew better than to show her disappointment; that would be unprofessional. She was worried though; Tamaki had that kind of raw creative intelligence that meant, whilst he could create masterpieces, that he was hopeless at looking after himself. She didn't like to think she would spend the rest of her life acting child-minder to her boss.

"I think I ought to visit the studio soon," he said, changing the subject. "I need to check if they need anything. Is the limo ready?"

"It should be. I'll just call the chafer."

XXXXXXXXX

Kyouya had not yet left his bedroom. He had worked hard to get to where he was today, and now the entire servant household believed he had begun his career in underage pornography. What made things worse was that looking back that was effectively what he _had_ done. How could he make straight-faced business propositions when the entire world knew what he looked like in nothing but underwear, pinned to a bed by Tamaki Suoh.

Why had he been such an _idiot_? He could easily have refused to do it; the host club was never that desperate for money.

Of course he knew the answer to that question, but it wasn't one he wanted to think about. He reached for the remote control on that sat on his bedside table and flicked the television on, putting off his problems for a little longer. Immediately, he recognized his own show, _OUT._ It was the second season and had finished being filmed about a month ago. The idea was simple but on top of boosting Kyouya's profile the program had become pretty profitable. Kyouya was the judge as two groups of prospective entrepreneurs competed against each other; their talents at the tasks set them would determine which members Kyouya kept 'in' and which ones were 'out'.

Kyouya flicked channels absently, wondering whether Tamaki had seen his face on television, or even if he watched his show.

He froze suddenly; something on one of the news channels had caught his attention. A young man was attempting to exit his apartment building, his head ducked so that blonde hair obscured his face from the gaggle of reporters and photographers surrounding him. He was followed by a small, neat young woman carrying a briefcase and attempting to press her way after him through the crowd and towards a large black limousine. Even without seeing the man's face, Kyouya had known who it would be, but he felt his insides clench as Tamaki finally raised his head, looking thoroughly confused by the attention.

Even after all Kyouya had done to forget about him, Tamaki just kept coming back.

"What's this about?" Tamaki asked a reporter and Kyouya cringed; it was never a good plan to let the press know more than you did. Talking to them without a game plan was practically suicidal. The neat woman tried to usher him towards the waiting car, but her efforts were in vain; Tamaki was curious now.

"Is it true that you and celebrity Kyouya Ootori have been involved in a romantic relationship with each other in the past?"

If Tamaki was startled, he didn't show it. Kyouya wondered if perhaps he had grown up a little since they had parted. "No, I don't know him."

"Then how do you explain this?" A magazine was thrust into Tamaki's hands and Kyouya recognized it as the one that still sat on the bed beside him.

Tamaki responded after pausing for a moment to look appropriately surprised and confused. "It must be a fake." Kyouya practically growled with exasperation. The photos weren't faked, that could be proved pretty easily; surely Tamaki knew that nobody would believe him.

At that point, the scene changed, showing the news reporter again, babbling excitedly about the news that "two of the world's most wanted young men" seemed at some point to have been photographed together in a rather more than friendly fashion. The image from the cover of the magazine Kyouya had been handed today was shown, this time followed by another two images from the same shoot. One was also set on the bed, this time with their school ties on; Tamaki was pulling him closer by his, their foreheads pressed together. Kyouya vaguely remembered Renge instructing him to try and 'growl' for that one and the situation had been thoroughly embarrassing.

The final image had been taken at the pool, where Renge had, much to Kyouya's irritation, managed to convince Tamaki that the ladies would be thoroughly disappointed if the issue did not involve a least one kiss. It had been Kyouya's first and only real kiss, not that he would ever admit it.

And now the air of flustered surprise as Tamaki's tongue invaded his mouth was being broadcast all over the country. Kyouya felt slightly guilty about being so thankful that his father was no longer alive to witness his downfall.

XXXXXXXX

The limo rode smoothly through the centre of London, its progress was slow but the glass was mirrored and Tamaki was glad to escape from the mob of journalists. He had been sorely tempted to claim the rumors were true, after all he half wished that they were, but Kyouya wouldn't want him to.

"Well I wonder where that came from… Whoever photo-shopped that image must be pretty talented, if it wasn't for the fact that you've never even met Mr. Ootori then I might have believed them myself." Miss Lans laughed lightly before noticing Tamaki's expression. "What is it? I mean a bit of scandal like this might really help sell out the tickets. It's not going to do your reputation any harm."

"It might hurt Kyouya's."

"Tamaki, you don't even know him, and I'm sure he'll cope."

There was an awkward silence.

"You said you didn't know him, you _were_ telling the truth weren't you?"

Tamaki's face was red and he wasn't meeting her eyes. "I…"

She giggled, delighting in the chance to tease her friend. "Oh my… you and Kyouya Ootori…? No wonder we're swamped with the press. Seriously, that man is every girl's dream; and he is probably the richest man in the world… So how come…?"

Tamaki avoided the question; the host club was not an easy thing to explain. "We were good friends, but we were never together."

"And you still fancy him. Don't you?"

"He was very beautiful." he left it at that, still avoiding eye contact.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"I'll be going then, I ought to make a few calls from my office to try and sort this mess out." Miss Lans picked up her bag; her shoulder sagging slightly under the weight.

Tamaki checked the clock, realising that it was indeed time for her to leave. The day had been stressful but had passed quickly; whilst nothing had gone wrong at the studio, the press had been asking awkward questions everywhere he went and Miss Lans' blackberry had been going off all day. She had cancelled all interviews for the week, claiming that he was ill, and Tamaki knew he would be pretty much housebound if she didn't do something to sort out the situation.

"Okay then. Au revoir, my dear Miss Lans." The French was deliberate, accompanied with lavish hand actions and his usual melodrama; Tamaki treated life as a performance to the point where reality merged with fantasy. Miss Lans ignored it.

"I'll try to sort this mess out tonight if I can," she said, "the longer the press have to wait, the more curious they'll be."

"Thank you for all this." Tamaki smiled meekly; for once aware of how much he depended upon her.

"Its no problem" she lied as she left the apartment, polite but clearly exasperated.

The door closed and Tamaki listened as her heels clopped along the landing outside. The sound faded from earshot and he sat back dejectedly. He had messed up and he knew it.

It wouldn't take much research to prove that he had lied, and then what? If only he had allowed Miss Lans to drag him to the car before asking too many questions. It had to have been one of the most pathetic lies he had ever told but it had come automatically and now there was no going back. All Miss Lans would be able to do now was minimise damage.

A familiar ringing noise caught his attention and he glanced around, surprised. His eyes rested on its source; Miss Lans' blackberry lay on the large dining table, shifting slightly as it vibrated against the smooth wooden surface. She must have forgotten it…

He walked towards it, hesitating before the small black object, unsure of what to do. It was her phone, it was private, and yet what if it was something important? He picked it up delicately, as if trying not to leave finger prints on the shiny plastic. He wasn't used to business calls, what if he messed up yet again today? He wavered for a moment before pressing the green button and holding the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" He asked with an intentional trace of French intonation, using his custom charm to fill in for his lack of confidence.

"Hello, I'm calling on behalf of the _HIK!_ Magazine, may I ask who is speaking?" The voice seemed oddly familiar but Tamaki couldn't place it.

"This is Suo Tamaki, how may I help you sir?" Tamaki asked with what he deemed to be a persuasive mixture of formality and allure. He hoped it worked because there was only one magazine that Miss Lans could have given this number to; the one that had got hold of the Host Club's photographs.

"We'd like to discuss some photos of you that we have published recently." The voice seemed less familiar now, as if the owner had suddenly developed a cold. Tamaki let it pass blaming the inconsistency on his own overactive imagination.

"Yes, I am aware of them. What is it that you wish to discuss?" Tamaki asked, treading carefully.

"Well I'm afraid we have an apology to make to you. You see, when we first published those photos we had no idea that they were taken when you were only seventeen. As I'm sure you're aware the legal requirement for appearing in such images publically is eighteen and thus we are withdrawing all such magazines from our stocks as we speak."

Tamaki frowned; he had thought they were taken later than that. Still, he wasn't going to argue; perhaps he could sort this problem out without Miss Lans' help for once.

"Good," He answered, trying to hold his position of legal authority. "I should hope so…" He trailed off wondering whether he should try and sue them for the disruption the pictures had caused; it seemed like the sort of think Kyouya would do and Kyouya was good at this kind of conversation. Before he reached a decision, the voice from the other end of the line made it for him.

"We were hoping that we could settle the matter privately, as we're sure you don't want a law suit bringing any more attention to the situation. We expect you'd prefer to meet with us in confidence, along with Kyouya Ootori of course."

"Of course," Tamaki agreed feeling proud that he was appearing vaguely professional for once. It hadn't occurred to him that all he had done was agree to the magazine's suggestions, but this was Tamaki. His self belief bordered on conceit if he didn't have someone to keep him in check.

"There should be a limousine waiting for you outside right now, we thought we should not postpone things."

"Oh," said Tamaki, surprised. "I will be there as soon as I can!" he exclaimed. "Farewell… and thank you for being so considerate."

"Thank you, it was a pleasure talking to you." The unknown voice finished with an audible smirk. The line clicked off and Tamaki pressed the end call button before pocketing the phone in case the magazine called again.

He patted his pockets, checking he had his apartment keys and glanced again at the magazine which was sitting on the chaise longue, exuding an air of smug sardonicism. _The Window _read the title in bold block capitals, which was odd because Tamaki was sure that they had called themselves _HIK!_ on the phone.

He didn't pay much attention to the discrepancy though; he only had a minute or so to get ready and he was about to see Kyouya again for the first time since high school.

Oh why had he agreed to this? He was going to see Kyouya. _Kyouya_.

And the driver was waiting for him…

A typically Tamaki-style panic consumed him and he dashed to the bathroom and ran a comb through his hair before deciding it looked too neat and attempting to ruffle it again. He gave up after making it worse; deciding makeup was a priority and grabbed his cosmetics bag. He usually had a make-up artist for before any important event but there was no time to call one now. He applied it carefully, trying not to make the eyeliner overly noticeable. After all this wasn't a date, it was a meeting.

And he had to be there _now_.

He couldn't let Kyouya think he was disorganised.

Pulling himself away from the lure of his more flamboyant cosmetics, Tamaki hurtled towards the door, apprehensive yet excited about seeing his ex-best-friend.

XXXX

Kyouya put down the phone, overwhelmed by his own idiocy. Was he going mad? He knew that phone call couldn't be genuine. It was obviously just another way to extract a free interview from him, yet he had agreed immediately to the magazine's proposition, totally ignoring the consequences of his actions.

And why?

Because of Tamaki. The person he had spent his life since high school trying desperately not to think about.

He didn't even have any evidence that the call was really from the magazine; he was just going to step straight into a car on his own because in return there was a chance he'd see the blonde again.

And he didn't even _want_ to see him.

Hadn't he broken connections with Tamaki for this precise reason in the first place? It was impossible to take life seriously with Tamaki around, and how could he have reached anywhere in life without taking things seriously?

But where had he got in life? He had a large house and a more than sizeable bank account, he could have anything he wanted, but in the end he didn't know _what_ he wanted. Everything seemed so meaningless.

Except one thing of course…

That _idiot_.

XXXXX

"Excuse me?" Tamaki asked, beginning to feel uncomfortable in the dimly lit limousine. The windows were covered with automatic blinds and the driver was separated from him by mirrored glass and the effect was rather intimidating. He waited for a moment before asking again, his voice anxious. "Excuse me, Sir?"

It was a woman's voice that answered; her voice completely expressionless. "I'm sorry but I have been instructed not to make conversation with you during this ride."

"What?" Tamaki asked, bewildered and a little alarmed. "I was just going to ask if you could open the window, its getting a bit stuffy in here with the heat from the light. Perhaps you could open the blinds?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I cannot."

"Its just I'd really like to see out…"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I cannot."

Tamaki was even more agitated than before, but he remained collected. After all, it was impolite to question his host's instructions; however bizarre they might be. There must be a reason for them.


	4. Chapter 4

Damage limitation; it was all down to that now. There was no way the photos could be explained away as nothing so Miss Lans had two options. Either she could do things Tamaki's way and let the rumors escalate through the media leaving people under the impression that he had reached his place in the spotlight through pornography, or she could do the best she could to patch things up by claiming that the two young men had been dating during high school and that the photographs were never intended for public viewing.

Neither option was ideal, but the second plan was the best they could do. Tamaki had been adamant that they should leave Kyouya's reputation uncontaminated at all costs but it was a bit late for that to be possible. Tamaki may have been seen as a little bit too flamboyant and out there, but dating him would be more respectable than posing like that for money. The only problem was that there was very little evidence and there was no way she could spread the rumor that the two had been in a relationship without Tamaki's cooperation; even then there was no guarantee it would work.

On the other hand she had never been unable to persuade Tamaki of something before and she doubted this would be an exception. She slipped a hand into the side pocket of her shoulder bag, fumbling for her blackberry but it was empty; she realized at once that it must still be sitting on the table in Tamaki's flat.

XXXXXXXXXX

Tamaki felt the car stop smoothly, the engines fell silent and for a moment he sat perfectly still, on edge, unsure of what would happen next. Then there was a soft thunk as the driver's door opened, he could feel the car shift slightly as she stepped outside. Her footsteps were heavy and solid; he envisaged thick soled military boots. His door swung open and climbed out, feeling light headed as he stood. Their surroundings were not much of a comfort; the gloomy grey concrete of an underground car park stretched out around them in all directions, deserted. It was cold and smelled of damp, with no natural light to give any indication of the outside world.

The face of his guard was completely devoid of emotion in an off-putting professional coldness. Her hair was in a tight bun which looked out of place with her square jaw and thick neck. She was large in a muscular sense and although Tamaki was athletic from his dancing, the sheer bulk of the woman was intimidating. Girls like this never turned up at the host club, this wasn't a woman who would swoon at Tamaki's words or smile. She was clearly capable of standing up for herself and Tamaki gave up on the idea of attempting escape all together.

Tamaki was shaking slightly, and not just with the underground chill. His breathing was a little too fast and his fingers struggled as he tied the red silken fabric over his own eyes as requested. "I'm sorry sir, but it is an important security measure" the excuse had been spoken in the same dry monotone, as if her words had been scripted. "Hik! is a leading gossip magazine, Sir, it cannot risk sharing leads with competitors."

Tamaki nodded understanding with as much authority as he could whilst blindfolded and trembling. In the distance he could hear damp dripping onto the concrete floor, the "plip, plip, plip" noise seemed to echo louder and louder. He felt trapped as if he could sense the tones of concrete above him, pressing down, separating them from the freedom and fresh air and daylight.

She began to lead him away from the car in silence, his hand on one arm as if he were accompanying her. He clenched his jaw, trying to stop his teeth chattering. He wondered what Kyouya would think if he saw him now.

Kyouya.

After a short walk, he felt them entering a lift. The comforting warm light from within filtered through the blindfold, allowing Tamaki to relax slightly. Some of the anxiousness remained though and Tamaki was pretty sure that they were probably not due to the possibility that he was being kidnapped. He had hoped that after all these years he would be too grown up to still get butterflies, but seemingly Kyouya Ottori still had the power to do such things to him. Not that Kyouya was aware of this of course.

XXXXXXXXX

Kyouya felt oddly relaxed as he felt the blindfold tighten, pressing the frames of his glasses into his face, the large, course hands of the burly male guard yanking at the silk. This wasn't a business meeting, he was sure of that now, but if he was being kidnapped then at least he could stop blaming himself for whatever was about to happen. Regardless of the intentions of whoever was in control, it was calming to think that his fate was somebody else's responsibility for now.

He felt a hand on his shoulder as the guard propelled him forwards. He soon gave up on trying to keep some sense of direction; only a dim perception of light or dark could filter through the layers of folded red silk. After ascending in what was presumably a lift, they seemed to pass along corridor after corridor, the occasional sound of muffled discussion or the whirring of computers coming from either side suggesting that indeed this might be an office block of some kind, but that didn't balance out the many small, bizarre aspects of the situation which weren't quite consistent with the story he had chosen to believe on the phone.

The blindfolds were ominous; anyone wishing to hold him hostage for the sake of money or in order to gain an interesting news story would surely have used something a little less suggestive than red silk… Perhaps his kidnapper was simply trying to confuse him? No, that could only be wishful thinking; Kyouya was beautiful, he knew that, and he also knew that being wanted by millions came with a price.

Why had he bought their story? It was more than a lust for adventure; Kyouya was young but had always been rational, he took after his father more than he cared to admit. He knew that his actions would only exacerbate the scandal, and that was something his company could do without. He was a ruthless businessman but the thought of people somewhere beneath him loosing their jobs and livelihoods because of something so stupid and childish of him made something suspiciously akin to guilt twinge inside him. So why was he doing something that almost rivaled Tamaki's level of stupidity? Because, he admitted dejectedly, the thought that out there billions of people would believe that he his old friend had been a little more than that was as close as he was ever going to get to it being a reality. If only he could believe what he read in the news.

Impossible fantasies; there wasn't room for fairytales in Kyouya's line of work. Roses and dances and moonlight were all very well but the host club girls were never worth more than the dresses they paraded. It was amazing what dreams could come true with enough money, but the happy endings would always be paper thin. They should have been left behind with the girls of the host club, in that virtual world where love was something that could be bought or sold.

The guard changed direction and Kyouya turned with him, trying to keep upright and to appear to be in control despite being disorientated by his lack of sight. The footsteps echoed differently here, suggesting a larger room with a higher ceiling. They halted as the guard removed his hand from Kyouya's shoulder and grabbed the blindfold by the knot, pulling it off smoothly then stepping backwards wordlessly.

For a few moments all he could see was the dazzling bright whiteness, and then his eyes began to focus again, he pushed his glasses back into their normal position as he began to make out other shapes in the haze. As he had expected they were no longer in a corridor but a spacious hall, a large concrete staircase descended along three of the walls from the floor above and it was painted white to match the walls giving the room a feeling of cleanliness and openness which didn't at all fit with Kyouya's preconceptions of what it would be like to be kidnapped. At the same time too much attention seemed to have been paid to the design or it to be a conventional office building; this room would have belonged more in an art gallery than an office block.

Indeed at its centre stood a faceless white mannequin, modeling an elaborate formal dress. Its long skirts trailing over the floor around it, colour texture and pattern merging together in places and complementing each other in others. Kyouya couldn't describe why but something in the design reminded him of the host club's extensive costume cupboard, albeit this dress was far more refined. In the snow white room the ruffles and layers and that deep green-blue stood out like a peacock, but at the same time it exuded an elegance and depth that could make you almost fall in love with the object its self.

Kyouya was suddenly worried about his own appearance; Tamaki's life and friends were surely far more interesting than he was; Tamaki was renowned for his exciting lifestyle after all. Kyouya was sure he looked older, and whilst his suits were all well tailored they were plain and designed to make him look respectable not flamboyant. Still Kyouya expected he was probably too plain a person to captivate Tamaki's interests anyway, that wasn't something that could be easily changed.

* * *

There we are at last; the penultimate chapter. I hope you haven't been too inconvenienced by the delay with this one but reality looms as always and I really shouldn't be spending my limited time on this… never mind I don't like to leave things unfinished. And as a special Christmas treat (merry Christmas by the way and a happy new year) anyone who can guess correctly (or at least mostly correctly) what the conclusion of the next chapter will be shall be granted a one chapter request story after this has been finished. So leave your hypothesis in the reviews section along with any constructive criticism you have to offer and you may be lucky. Thank you for reading and enjoy the holidays if you have them!


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